


He Ain't Heavy

by Kiki0_0



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Bobby, Child Abuse, Conflicted Dean, Dean Being an Asshole, Hurt Sam, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, John Winchester Being an Asshole, My First Fanfic, Sam Winchester is Not a Winchester, Sam's Name is Not Sam, WIP, poor sammy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:24:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki0_0/pseuds/Kiki0_0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title taken from The Hollies song "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother".<br/>Dean Winchester was still young, but he knew about the hunting world. That is one of the reasons why he was so confused when his father came home with a tiny infant in his arms and told him it was evil, like the things they hunted. Could something so small and innocent looking really be the son of a demon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hush Little Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I have no idea what I'm doing...  
> I wrote this a while ago and never planned on posting it, but here I am. Help is appreciated, so if you have any advice, please throw me a comment!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hush, little baby, don't say a word  
>  Mama's gonna buy you a mockin'bird_
> 
> _If that mockin'bird don't sing  
>  Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring_
> 
> _If that diamond ring turns brass,  
>  Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass_
> 
> _If that looking glass gets broke  
>  Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat_
> 
> _If that billy goat don't pull,  
>  Mama's gonna buy you a cart and mule_
> 
> _If that cart and mule turn over  
>  Mama's gonna buy you a dog named Rover_
> 
> _If that dog named Rover won't bark  
>  Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart_
> 
> _If that Horse and Cart fall down,  
>  Then you'll be the sweetest little baby in town._
> 
> —Hush Little Baby

Dean was four years old when his daddy came home holding a small bundle of blankets in his hands.

At the time, Dean didn't know that the way he was holding the bundle was careless and cruel, or that it was anything more than a blanket then. That was, until his dad heedlessly placed the bundle on the table, and the four-year-old heard a small cry come from the bundle. 

"Shut up!" his father yelled at the bundle, causing the cries to increase.

Dean walked up to the table and climbed on top of a chair for a better view of the mysterious blanket his father had brought home, only to see a tiny baby lying on their table with large bulbous tears rolling down its cheeks. He looked to his dad, confusion evident on his face.

"Why did you get a baby, Daddy?" the boy asked his father. "I thought you were going on a hunt."

Dean figured out about hunting a week after he turned four, when he found his mommy dead in the kitchen; her stomach sliced open in a perfect circle and sloppily bleeding. His daddy then told him all about hunting to explain why they had to move around a lot after her death. That had been six months ago.

"It's not a normal baby, Dean. We are going to keep an eye on it for now. At least, until we learn what it is," he responded in a gruff voice. 

John looked to the crying baby, slapping its tiny cheek. "Shut up, Brat!" he yelled at the tiny being before lowering his voice to a near whisper. "You'll soon learn your place."

"Dean." He placed the new baby in his son's arms. "I have to go help a friend on a hunt and hopefully get some information from him. I need you to take care of this thing until I get back."

Dean only nodded in response to his father's request and watched as he left once again.

\---SPN---

His father named the creature a few months later, when someone from childcare came because of an anonymous tip. Apparently someone had heard constant crying recently and was concerned. The CPS woman had come to the apartment he was currently staying at and asked if they could talk for a bit while she checked things out.

He had charmed her pretty well and by the end of the visit, he was pretty confident she would let it slide. When Dean entered after coming home from his current kindergarten, she finally got to asking his children's names.

He had choked, but somehow sputtered out an answer.

"Dean and Cain," he said to the lady. 

Cain, the murdering brother, it seemed a fitting name for the freak.

\---SPN---

Dean knew the thing was evil and all, but he still couldn't watch as his father beat the small five-year-old boy with messy chocolate coloured curls covering his head for breaking a plate, of all things. Especially when broken hazel eyes turned to him, begging him to make it stop. 

The thing just looked so human.

The ten-year-old boy entered his room and sat on his bed, ignoring the insults shouted and tiny, tear-filled apologies that could still be heard from the solitude of his room.

\---SPN---

Dean sat at the dining table at their motel of the week. His father sat across from him, and Cain was in the kitchen preparing dinner. John had been furious when he came home with Dean from a hunt to see that the wench had not finished making dinner yet and promised him punishment after they had eaten.

The boy was now eight years old and John had decided about a year ago to make use of the creature. It was now Cain's responsibility to keep house, clean the weapons, and make dinner whenever asked of him. John knew these were not hard things to do; in fact, it was much easier that hunting. Why couldn't he just do it right? 

The boy eventually entered the kitchen with a pot of delicious looking pasta in tow. He gently set it on the table between the two Winchesters and quickly brought them bowls and forks and served them both large portions. After he brought them each a beer - per command - he stood with his hands behind his back awaiting further instructions.

As John began to eat the food before him, he turned to the obediently waiting creature. 

"You know, you are the bane of my life, right?" he asked the thing before him. It was something he said often to the creature when he did something wrong.

The creature merely nodded in response and John scowled at it. 

"Go to the closet and stay there until I come to get you tomorrow. I don't want to see you until then, understood?" he asked the creature, his voice cold and hard.

Once again, the creature nodded before scurrying off to do as he was told, limping slightly as each step caused pain to his swollen ankle.

John started calling him Bane more and more often after that.

\---SPN---

The boy, Bane, Cain, whatever you want to call him, was more than scared when John retrieved him in the middle of the night one night, but knew not to struggle. Struggling always ended in more pain and punishment. Besides, who was he to fight them? He was only alive because they allow him to live; serving them was the least he could do in return.

When John pulled him outside, into the freezing November night, he instantly began to shiver. His ripped, worn, thin, and much too small t-shirt and jeans not much against the winter's cold. Suddenly, that was the last thing on his mind as he noticed another man approaching them in the motel parking lot. 

"This the kid?" the stranger asked.

"What do you think, Walker? Of course it's the goddamned freak," John stated gruffly in a no-nonsense manner as he shoved Cain forward, causing him to fall to his hands and knees on the asphalt, scraping them in the process. 

He dared not even hiss at the burning feeling.

The stranger, Walker apparently, grunted in response before handing a couple twenty dollar bills to John.

"This good for the hour?" he asked while eyeing Cain in a way that made him extremely uncomfortable.

"That should do it. Remember, nothing that will end him up dead, useless, or in a hospital. Okay?" John said in his usual stoic voice while giving Cain a disgusted look.

"Yeah, yeah. I understand," the stranger replied, clearly impatient.

"I'll be back here at four o'clock sharp." With those words said, John stalked back to his motel room to catch another hour of sleep.

When John picked Cain up in the same parking lot at four o'clock, his face was completely void of emotion, and his trembling was no longer caused by the cold night.

\---SPN---

“Where are we goin’, Dad?” a sleepy, Dean asked on a yawn, stretching his cramped muscles out. 

They were currently in the Impala, as they had been for the past eight hours. The space was tight, but there were no complaints in the air. John being the reason for the trip, Dean loving it, and Cain too afraid to mention that he had minimal room in the back with all the luggage. 

“We’re heading back to West Virginia, but since we’re quite a bit away, I figured we could stop in at Bobby’s and catch a few hours of sleep,” John answered Dean’s question.

“Been so long. Sound’s great.”

Cain heard none of this. He was to tired, too happy right now. He loved it when they were on the road. Sure, he had minimal room, felt slightly claustrophobic, and didn’t like the too loud music Dean played twenty-four hours a day, but it was also peaceful. He was ignored in the car. No one spoke to him, no one acknowledged him, and no one hit him. He cherished the hours on the road. He was allowed to sleep on the seat, not on the floor or in the closet, and he was so warm, the heater being kept on almost the entire trip. 

It was paradise.


	2. Cold and Raw, the North Wind Doth Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cold and raw the north wind doth blow_  
>  Bleak in the morning early,  
> All the hills are covered with snow,  
> And winters now come fairly.
> 
>  
> 
> —Cold and Raw, the North Wind Doth Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel it is necessary to mention that my chapter titles are all nursery rhymes. Just so y'all know. 
> 
> I am feeling very inspired lately; hence the second chapter in one day... Hopefully I don't hit a roadblock soon...

Bobby Singer was waiting for John Winchester's black Impala to pull up while sitting on his porch swing. It had been a few months since he last saw his friend, and even longer since he saw the man's son. When Dean was younger, John would drop him off at Bobby's often while he went off on a dangerous hunt somewhere. That had stopped happening as often when Dean was around five years old, eventually ceasing completely. Nowadays, he only saw Dean when they worked together on a hunt. He had asked John about the less frequent visits after a hunt he was helping him with one time. John had simply stated that Dean was staying elsewhere. Little did he know that John just didn't want him to meet the new child he had picked up, for fear that Bobby would fall for its innocent appearance. John knew Bobby had a soft spot for children and thought that its age might cloud Bobby's judgement on the freak.

He finally saw the classic sportscar pull into his salvage yard and a tired looking John climb out of the driver's seat and grab two duffels out of the trunk. Not long after, Bobby saw Dean pull himself out of the passenger's seat and grab one of the duffels from his father. 

"Good to see you again, Bobby," John stated tiredly as he and Dean neared the porch. "Thank you for offering for us to stay here the night."

"You can always crash here when you need to. You know that," Bobby said in his usual gruff but friendly voice. "Besides, you look like hell, you idjit. At this rate, nothing supernatural will kill you, exhaustion will."

John huffed a laugh before entering the house behind Bobby. He and Dean had just finished up a particularly rough Wendigo hunt and decided to crash here on their way to their next hunt. They were looking forward to meeting their beds for the night.

"Hope you're hungry; I made a pot of chilli big enough to feed an army, so I figured about enough for the three of us," Bobby stated with a fleeting smirk as he grabbed a couple bowls and filled them with chilli before placing them on the table with a basket of bread on it. "Eat up."

"Bobby, I have never liked you more than at this very moment," Dean groaned as he stuffed his mouth full of the warm chilli.

"Really? More than when I was changing your diapers for you?" Bobby teased the boy.

"Definitely," Dean stated with a smug grin. "Though those were easier times for me."

"Oh shut up and eat, ya' idjit." Bobby rolled his eyes at the younger Winchester. One thing was for sure, Dean had no problem obeying that command.

Bobby was going to ask where they were headed, what they were planning on hunting, and what they have been doing for the past few years, but decided to wait until tomorrow. Clearly the two were exhausted, and he knew for a fact it had been too long since either got a good night's sleep. 

When both Winchesters were finished, Bobby told them to leave the cleanup to him and head to bed in their usual rooms. Both father and son were much too tired to argue.

\---SPN---

Bobby woke up early the next morning. He knew from experience that now that the Winchesters were rested, they would be leaving as soon as possible. Which meant right after breakfast. He also knew that they wherever they were headed, it was most likely quite a long drive and would cause them to drive the day away. That meant they would probably not stop for food, seeing as there weren't a lot of diners around here. 

Making a decision, Bobby headed into the kitchen and began making a few sandwiches for them to take with them. After he was finished and placed them in a container, Bobby decided the best course of action was to just put the container in the Impala and let them find it later, as they would probably refuse the offer if he just gave it to them. 

After pulling on a pair of boots, Bobby forced himself out into the frigid morning air and walked to the Impala. Though it was February already, it was still quite cold out. He instantly regretted not grabbing a coat for his short trip outside. 

When he reached the black classic, he opened the back door to the car and jumped back at what he saw. Curled against the other door, was a small boy, no older than thirteen Bobby would bet. The boy was awake, but looked like he had recently been sleeping; he was probably woken by Bobby yanking the door open. He was shivering, covered in only a thin blanket; the car heater off and no keys to be seen. The boy looked at him with wide, terrified hazel eyes as if Bobby was holding a knife or something just as threatening. He has never seen a kid that scared except when one saw a monster, and wasn't that ironic? Bobby took in a deep breath to calm himself down from the shock of finding the boy. 

"Hi there, what are you doing in the car?" he asked in as soft a voice as he could muster, trying not to scare the boy. When the boy didn't answer, only looked at him with fear, he tried something else. "It's okay; I'm not going to hurt ya', kid. Could you come outta the car?"

The boy looked at him warily, a chocolate coloured curl falling into his eyes as he pulled farther into the corner and quickly shook his head.

"It's okay; I just want to bring you inside where it's warm. Come on out," Bobby soothed, just wanting to get the kid out of the freezing cold and into the house at least. He wondered if the kid was just homeless and looking for shelter for the night.

The kid looked around warily before slowly crawling out of the corner and to the open door. Once he stood up, Bobby took a moment to take a look at him. He took in way too pale skin, long, thin, trembling limbs, and a much, much too skinny body that told him it had been way too long since this kid has last had a decent meal. The poor boy's ribs were jutting out and he looked starved.

Just as he was about to ask the kid what his name was, a booming voice called out behind him. 

"Cain!" the voice yelled. "What the hell do you think you are doing!?" 

The kid visibly jumped at the voice and his trembling increased tenfold as his head shot down to look at his feet. 

Bobby turned around to see John storming over to the car. Clearly John had not seen him before.

"You know this kid? Why the hell was he sleeping in the car then!?" Bobby asked with a barely controlled temper. John wouldn't make a kid sleep in the car, would he?

John had the decency to look shocked and slightly guilty before he sighed, shoving his anger at the freak for disobeying him down for later, he turned to his friend.

"Maybe we should talk about this inside?" he suggested. 

Bobby silently nodded his head in agreement. It was too cold to talk out here. 

John walked up to the kid and unceremoniously grabbed his arm, causing him to yelp.

"Come on, Cain," he said coldly. It concerned Bobby to no end that his friend was so rough with the young boy.

Once they were inside, Bobby entered the living room and sat down on one of the chairs it held. John sat on the couch and gestured for the kid, Cain, to do the same.

"You got some explaining to do," Bobby stated factually.

"S'not a real kid," was all John said at first. "The thing's a demon's son. Dean and I picked it up one time and decided to keep it out of trouble." John kept out any other details to himself, like how long ago he picked it up, and what he meant by 'keep it out of trouble'.

Bobby took in the kid's appearance again and noticed Dean, at some point, had joined them in the living room. There was no way the trembling boy sitting with his back ramrod straight, not even touching the couch cushions, was a demon. The boy looked like he was just waiting for a beating or reprimand. Hell, Bobby was sure holy water would affect himself more than that boy.

"Get out of my house, both of ya'," he stated in a low, dangerous tone. "There is only one way the kid got to lookin' like he does now, and I will not allow you to hurt the boy anymore. Keepin’ a monster in line and brutalizing an innocent child are two, very different, things." Bobby wasn't stupid, no demon would act like the kid did in the car, so terrified and resigned to his fate.

"Bobby-" John started, only to be cut off by his former friend.

"Don't you dare make excuses. I said get out of my house!" Bobby near yelled.

John got up and grabbed his and Dean's bags from their rooms before returning to the living room.

"Give me a chance to explain," he started again.

"No. You and Dean both; I don't want to see you around here again," bobby stated in a much calmer voice than before, noticing how the loud yelling had made the boy jump and flinch. He didn't want to kick Dean out as well, knowing that it was his daddy's fault anyhow, but he also knew that Dean wouldn't stay without John, and would probably try to run back as soon as he could.

When both Dean and John exited the house, Bobby got up and grabbed a shotgun before leaving as well, ignoring the flinch the action caused from the boy on his couch. Did the kid really think he was just gonna shoot him? He cocked the gun as he stood on the porch near where the Winchester's stood, packing their bags in the Impala.

"If you ever come near this place, or that boy, again, I will blast you both full of buckshot!" Bobby yelled at his former friend's retreating back.

\---SPN---

After he was completely sure that he was calmed down, Bobby made his way back into his house to care for the young boy that it held.

Bobby had no idea what to do about the boy. It wasn't like he could just give him to CPS; they would have too many questions that he couldn't answer. Even if he lied and managed to get them to take the boy in, the boy could turn out to possess some sort of power in the future and not know how to control it. He decided that for now, he would just have to take care of the boy.

He wasn't what you would call stupid though; he knew there has a high chance that the Winchesters would try to get the boy back, especially if they didn't approve of the way Bobby treated him.

Now that he rid himself of two Winchesters, reality came crashing down, along with a whole new problem.

Deciding to start with the basics - keeping the poor thing alive - Bobby quickly walked up the creaking, wooden steps of the house and walked to an old linen cupboard - one that hasn’t been touched in ages, as Bobby lived off of whatever he washed; things were rarely put in drawers or cupboards. 

He grabbed a dusty old blanket that he usually threw over his bed on the really cold winter nights, when he could hardly keep a fire going and it was his last resort. He shook it off, releasing most of the dust, before messily folding the blanket again, resulting with a scrunched ball of blanket.

Bobby carried the oversized rag out to the living room, where the boy - Cain - still sat, resembling a pole on his couch. Why did he resemble a pole, you may ask? Well, it was because the boy was sitting with perfectly straight posture, but his shoulders were tucked nearly under his chin, arms folded and crushed between his thighs - probably trying to keep them warm. His knees shook, and his head was bowed to face his lap, not looking up as Bobby’s loud footsteps entered the room. Of course, he was also as skinny as a damn pole, too, sitting on the very edge of his seat. 

Bobby laid the blanket on the couch beside the boy - startling him slightly. 

“Here, kid,” he spoke in his usual gruff manner, “you look about ready to freeze to death.”

The kid - Cain, Cain, damnit - sent a fleeting look at Bobby before shooting his gaze to the blanket beside him. He reached out a pale and shaking hand to touch the blanket, his hazel eyes as big as the moon. He looked at the blanket as he briefly stroked the corner - before retracting his hand as if he had been slapped - like it was made of the softest material ever to exist. Unlike the wool, scratchy, worn thing it really was. 

The boy open and closed his mouth a few times, as if he were debating whether or not to say something. 

“It’s alright, kid.” Cain, Cain Damnit! “You don’t have to be scared. You can talk.”

The boy shook his head - two jerky shakes and then stillness again - before pushing the blanket back towards Bobby. 

“Hey, hey now. It’s for you.”

The boy shook his head again.

“Come ‘ere, boy.”

Cain visibly flinched and began to tremble harder - not from the cold - as Bobby approached with the blanket. Bobby, of course, ignored this, wrapping the blanket around the boy’s thin, boney shoulders and clasping it in the boy's hands near his chest, creating a cocoon of warmth in stark contrast to the freezing car the boy had just spent the night in. And there was no way in hell that boy could have gotten any sleep in that freezer. He probably had to stay awake just to keep his body moving, his blood pumping. It’s a goddamned miracle he didn’t lose a finger or toe. Unless he did, and Bobby just didn’t notice. Of course, if he did, Bobby may just have to go hunt and kill a certain hunter. 

How ironic. 

“I’m not gonna hurt’cha, kiddo. Cain? Is that your name?”

The kid shrugged. 

“Whatdaya mean? You got more ‘an one?” Bobby asked. Though sarcasm was his goal, and a smirk was his wished response, he got neither to work. 

The boy nodded his head up and down tiredly. 

_Yes, I do have more than one name._

_Yes, things couldn't even be so simple that you can have a name._

_Yes, I really am not going to talk._

Bobby groaned internally, and swore externally, causing yet another flinch. 

This was going to be a long night, one that might just end with Bobby having a little ‘talk’ with one John Winchester sometime.


	3. One For Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One for sorrow,  
>  Two for joy,  
> Three for a girl,  
> Four for a boy,  
> Five for silver,  
> Six for gold,  
> Seven for a secret,  
> Never to be told!  
> Eight for a wish,  
> Nine for a kiss,  
> Ten for a bird,  
> You must not miss._
> 
> —One For Sorrow

The kid was stubborn, Bobby would give him that. 

Well, not stubborn in the right way, though. The boy would do anything that meant pain for him, but efficiency for another, without blinking, but when it came to someone offering him kindness - a clearly abstract idea to the boy - he demurred as well as a donkey. 

“Here, kid, you must be starving.”

Bobby set down a bowl of reheated chilli in front of the boy, on the rickety coffee table that Bobby still continues to claim he will replace sometime. 

The boy looked at the food in complete awe - longing in his gaze - before putting his head down, looking away from the food and back at his lap.

“It’s for you, Cain. You need to eat something; you are clearly hungry.”

The boy trembled, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders and bunching it up in his grip, but still offered no answer.

Bobby didn’t know what to do. The boy’s ribs were jutting out; he mustn’t have eaten in days, and it was clearly much, much longer since the boy had a decent meal. He was beginning to get a headache, clearly out of his league here. He just wanted, needed, the boy to eat. It was hurting him to see how hungry, how scared and broken, the little child was. He broke; he was resorting to begging. 

“Please, Cain. Please, I need you to eat something. You look so hungry, it is hurting me to see you so thin. I am just asking you to eat something. I swear, though I’m not about to win any chef awards, that it’s not half bad. I didn’t even burn the burger this time. It’s five star in the Singer Kitchen.”

Though he really, really hoped for a smile, he was still just as overjoyed when, after some hesitation and fidgeting on Cain’s part, he leaned forward and picked up the spoon that lay in the bowl of chilli. He wanted to tell the boy to take small bites, drink water in between, and not eat too quickly, but was afraid any noise would scare the kid into stopping. As it was, the boy looked about ready to jump out of his skin. His hands shook so badly he could hardly grasp the spoon, and, as he attempted to bring it to his mouth, he kept dropping either the spoon itself, or all of its contents back into the bowl. He looked like he thought Bobby would attack him for trying to eat or something. Oh God, how that thought made Bobby want to go and rip John Winchester's Intestines through his eye sockets. 

Instead, he settled for grabbing a water bottle and moving slowly, making sure that Cain could see his every move, placed it on the coffee table beside the chilli. It was almost unnerving, how he could feel Cain’s gaze on his every move. It was clear the boy was used to keeping an eye on his surroundings. When he reached over to place the water bottle in his reach, the kid completely dropped the spoon, abandoning his attempts at eating the chilli, and curled into a ball, making whimpering noises pitiful enough to break a sociopath’s heart. 

“Hey, hey now. None of that. I’m not gonna hurtcha. I just wanted you to stay hydrated. See? It’s just a water bottle. It’s still sealed. You can check. Come on now; can you try to eat some more for me?”

The boy slowly uncoiled, seeing as Bobby wasn’t raining blows down on his already bruised skin yet, and sat back on the edge of the couch. He was hungry, so hungry. At this point, it almost didn’t matter to him whether or not this was a trick of some kind, a test to see how behaved he was, how his training was working. He just couldn’t stand it anymore. It had been four days since he had last eaten. Other than a few water bottles here and there, he was completely ignored in the regards of nourishment. That was the point, though, wasn’t it? He was a monster, and in being such a thing he should not even require food and water. It was a blessing that John fed him at all.

But God, his stomach ached for the food placed so temptingly in front of him. It smelt so good.

Bobby had to physically restrain himself from punching the air in victory and whooping for joy when the boy’s hand tentatively reached out for the spoon again. He knew it was rather ridiculous, how much he already cared for this boy, but who couldn’t care for a malnourished, puppy-like boy with wet hazel eyes and curly hair? Honestly, it didn’t matter how hard a person’s heart may be, it would melt under the sad gaze of one Cain… Geez, Bobby thought, I don’t even know if the kid has a last name.

Thought Bobby knew it would be a long night, it already felt worth it when Cain finally brought the spoon of warm chilli to his mouth. His eyes were on Bobby the entire time, wondering if he was going to be punished, if this was some sort of trick. But he had learned how to read people pretty well, and Bobby seemed genuinely happy that he was eating.

And it was just as good as it smelled. Oh God, it was good. 

His stomach rumbled as he ate, but Bobby didn’t seem to mind. Maybe Bobby was different, he thought. Maybe, just maybe, Bobby would have less rules than John did. 

But Cain didn’t dare hope. Hope only led to harsher punishments and disappointment; Cain didn’t know which was worse.

For now, though, for now he would take what he could get. Even if it only lasted one night - even if he was sent back to John tomorrow - at least he could hold onto this one night of good memories to keep him going for a little longer. 

Maybe it would keep him going until his mommy would take him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, short chapter. I am starting to get a little choppy now, which was bound to hapen eventually. I am open to hearing ideas, hopes, and wishes for this story if anyone has any. As of right now, I am just kind of letting the story write itself. 
> 
> That brings me to another fact. I have no idea how I am doing with characters. I realize this is AU and everyone is bound to be a little OOC, but feel free to let me know what you think. Do you like it? Do you hate it? I would love to hear what you have to say. 
> 
> Also, I would just like to thank Cathryne for commenting on the past two chapters; it excites me every time I see it!


	4. Cut Thistles in May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cut thistles in May,  
>  They'll grow in a day;  
> Cut them in June,  
> That is too soon;  
> Cut them in July,  
> Then they will die._
> 
> —Cut Thistles in May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... Has it really been that long? I am so, so incredibly sorry! I honestly just lost all train of thought for a while, but, and I'm not just saying this, the comments have been amazing! I love the feedback, I love the ideas, and I love you guys! You are the reason I am up this late, so I will blame you when I am dead to the world tomorrow... I hadn't read the comments before now, and I honestly couldn't not write something after that. The feedback is the reason I do this! 
> 
> Just because I am scared of people yelling at me: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. In fact, I do not even have enough money to go out and buy Sam and Dean dolls to pretend with. I am just writing for entertainment. There is no profit made here.
> 
> Oh, again, I have not read any of my previous chapters in months... If there are anny inconsistencies or errors, feel free to let me know. 
> 
> I also don't remember if I mentioned this before, but all chapter titles are taken from nursery rhymes. Feel free to look them up! 
> 
> Apologies for the long notes...and short chapter. I will try to write more soon, if there is still interest.

Bobby went back into the living room to check on Cain. The kid was clearly exhausted, and fell asleep after eating a third of the chilli Bobby had given him. Bobby didn’t take offence to that though; he knew the kid’s appetite must be small after having clearly not been fed well.

He wondered what life must have been like with the Winchesters. 

Dean hadn’t seemed like the type to become so cold when he was a child. No, in fact, Dean was a bit of a dreamer back in the day. He would wander out into Bobby’s salvage yard, whether it was day or night, and would play pretend. It used to scare the shit out of Bobby. He would go to check on Dean, whether it was in the middle of the night or just wherever he had last seen him, and he would be gone. It didn’t calm him down to find Dean talking to imaginary friends and fighting the air. 

He soon found out what some of Dean’s stories were about. 

Dean used to make happy endings. He liked to write stories where his daddy and him killed an alpha monster and the world was forever rid of those who go bump in the night. 

Bobby would smile as he watched Dean, with his wooden sword he had carved himself, fighting trees and chasing off squirrels, pretending the world was a better place. It was one of the reasons Bobby loved the kid. 

Dean would pretend other things as well. In some of his fantasies, his mother never died, and he and John lived an apple pie life with a picket fence and a dog. Sometimes, Dean would even pretend he had a little sibling to protect from bullies and monsters. 

Sometimes, though, Dean would pretend that he had a little brother, and he called him Sam. When Bobby asked about his imaginary brother, Dean told him he was real. He told Bobby that Sam was his little brother that he would never get to have. He would say, “Mommy had a bump. It looked like she swallowed a balloon, but Daddy said that wasn’t funny. Mommy would laugh though. Mommy thought it was funny. She said that Sammy made her tummy big, and that when he was ready, he would come out and be my brother. But Sammy never camed out.”

Bobby nearly cried when Dean pouted after he said that. Dean looked so sad, so disappointed that he didn’t get to be a big brother. It nearly made Bobby fall back into old habits - old habits that involved a bottle of whiskey and a case of beer.

But he was also the one that stopped Bobby from doing exactly that. 

Dean gave Bobby a purpose, a reason to live. Whenever John would drop him off at his place, Bobby had a brighter week. Every time he wanted to fall back into a depression - every time he thought about his late wife - he thought about happy green eyes that knew too much and saw too much. He would see something that still needed him, just a little longer. 

So Bobby couldn’t be mad at Dean. Even when Cain looked terrified when he awoke to Bobby attempting to carry him to the guest room for a better sleep. Even when Cain kicked out and squirmed out of his grasp, only to hide under the bed. 

He couldn’t even be angry when Cain spoke for the first time since Bobby had met him. 

“M’sry. M’srry. L’be good; promise. Please. Not ‘loud on bed. Beds are for people.”

Even when the words were so quiet, so broken. Even though Bobby knew Dean didn’t stop this - probably took part in it - Bobby couldn’t be mad.

Because one time, Dean was a dreamer. And dreamers don’t become realists for no reason. The only way for a dreamer to become hard enough to tolerate this is if they were forced to, and Dean didn’t become this heartless on his own. 

He had his daddy to thank for that. 

\---SPN---

To say John was pissed would be an understatement. Dean had seen him this angry twice before in his entire life. The first time was the first time Cain had tried to run away, when he was only eight. John had been mad, to say in the least. Punishment had not been merciful for the... Boy? Demon? The second time, however, dated back to when Dean was much younger, before Cain came into the picture and his father was only hunting the thing that had killed his mother and nothing more. John had been a constant source of anger then, always throwing things, drinking, and generally causing as much havoc as he could. He was just trying to deal with his grief though, Dean justified. 

That was about when Bobby had come into the picture, actually. John met him through another hunter he knew, the man Dean assumed trained his father in the supernatural hunt. He never asked; it was not his place. At that time, however, Bobby quickly became like a father to Dean. He was there to take care of Dean when his own father was too drunk or angry to do so, making sure he was warm and fed at all times. 

To say it hurt to be thrown out of his life like outgrown clothing would also be an understatement. 

But Dean had the task at hand to worry about first: Keeping his father from doing something stupid in his current fury. If he were to leave his father as he was, surely the older Winchester would storm right back into the house and demand the demon boy back. 

No matter how hurt he was, Dean couldn’t let any harm come to either his father or Bobby. While his loyalties lie with his remaining family, he couldn’t forget all that Bobby had done for them -- gone through himself. Bobby had always wanted children; his wife was pregnant when she died. It was clearly clouding his judgement. He just had to make his father see that. 

Dean broke the tense silence in the Impala. “He’ll come around, Dad.”

John turned to face his son, a determined look on his face. “I know, Dean. It is just a matter of _when_. We need that boy to help us keep tracking down demons. If he somehow manages to trick Bobby, then we will need to come up with a back up plan, hopefully one that doesn’t end with Bobby hating us for the rest of our lives.

Dean nodded. What else was there to say? He knew that should both Plan A and Plan B fail, Plan C was sure to end with a “no contact” rule regarding his surrogate father. 

After all, his loyalties still lie with his family.


	5. To Bed, To Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To bed, to bed,  
>  Says Sleepy-head.  
> Tarry a while, says Slow.  
> Put on the pan,  
> Says greedy Nan,  
> We'll sup before we go._
> 
> —To Bed, To Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, an update!
> 
> To all those who leave me such encouraging reviews: You are why I write this, so thank you! No lie though, I would not continue this if it weren't for such wonderful, supportive people!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sam, Dean, John, Bobby, or anyone else on the show. If I did, I would be much too busy to write FanFiction...

The noise that left Bobby as his alarm clock sound could definitely be described as growling. Hell, it came close to the sound of an engine that needed to be put down. 

The previous night had been too long, and he was feeling every second of his age. 

The boy, Cain, would probably combust if he knew his _helping_ was only making Bobby’s hair grey all too quickly. But the seasoned hunter would never say so to the kid anyhow. Poor thing had too much on his plate already. Bobby had spent more or less fourty-five minutes attempting to get the kid to bed to no avail. The boy had started by hiding under the bed, and eventually, when he had thought Bobby had left -- but really he had still been peeking through the crack in the door -- the boy curled up in a corner to sleep. Bobby knew he hadn’t the nicest of flooring. The boy was bound to be cold, uncomfortable, and scared. But for the life of him, in his tired state of mind, he saw no solution. Instead, he decided to start fresh the next day and simply allow the boy to find comfort in whatever he could. 

That marked the start of his night. 

After crashing in his own bed, he had slept for what felt like ten minutes, only to be awoken by the foreign sound of footsteps in the hall. His instincts caused him to clutch the knife under his pillow, waiting to see if the intruder would enter his room. When the noise could be heard descending to the main floor, Bobby grabbed his shotgun from its perch beside his bed, and slowly crept down the stairs. 

Needless it be said, the shotgun was unnecessary. 

Cain stood on a makeshift stool -- an old milk crate that Bobby usually kept his potatoes in, but had left out to remind him to buy some more -- and had filled the kitchen sink with soapy water. His hands were bright red, insinuating that the water was much too hot to touch, yet the boy had his hands elbow-deep in the liquid. He had a stack of plates in the water, and the cups sitting on the counter beside it, thoroughly cleaned. 

Not knowing how to approach the boy without startling him, Bobby just stood with his jaw dropped at the sight. Distantly, his mind recognized the numbers on the microwave clock -- 4:53am. No boy as young as he should be up at this time, let alone doing dishes.

Cain seemed to sense his presence, breathing picking up before he set the last plate in the cupboard after drying it with the same military precision he had used to wash them. He, hesitatingly, turned to face Bobby, chin down and eyes averted. He stood with his shoulders hunched in, and was wringing his hands in front of himself, just waiting to be reprimanded, it appeared, or just waiting for orders. 

Bobby sighed, causing the boy to flinch. The sight only saddened him more. What could have happened to the kid to make him look so _broken_? 

Despite Bobby’s best efforts to get the child back to bed -- well, at least, to the guest room -- Cain periodically got up to do chores once again every time he thought Bobby was gone. He just couldn't understand. Why did the kid not just sleep?

When his alarm clock went off at nine, he had never been more tired. 

He made a large pot of coffee as soon as he made his way to the kitchen. To the uninformed eye, he may look like he drank too much the previous night. Half coherent, walking into furniture, rubbing his temples -- he did make quite a sight. As soon as he had his first of many future cups of coffee, he was ready to find Cain and have a little chat with the boy about when the sun sets and how people usually sleep during this time. 

But to do so, he had to find the kid first. 

\---SPN---

Cain entered the kitchen as Bobby downed his second cup of coffee. The boy quickly bowed his head and continued his apparent task: Setting the table. In a way, Bobby didn’t want to stop him. Maybe cleaning was a familiar task to him, something he could, in a twisted way, take comfort in. 

The problem was, the boy only set the table for one. 

After straightening the cutlery to be at a perfect ninety degree angle with the edge of the table, the boy stood to the side with his hands behind him, clearly waiting for Bobby to sit. With a raised eyebrow and his cup of coffee in hand, Bobby did as the boy silently expected, and sat in front of the singular place setting. 

As soon as he sat down, the kid was a blur of movement. Before Bobby could even think to stop the boy, large portions of eggs, toast, bacon, and sausages were all on a plate in front of him. The kid finally stilled after the food was before Bobby -- well, he was almost still. He was a bundle of nerves, standing to the side with his arms behind his body once again, trembling minutely. 

Bobby had no idea what to do. On one hand, he could reprimand the boy, tell him that this was nonsense, completely unnecessary. However, this could end up scaring the boy, making him think he had done something wrong. Taking last night -- early morning, really -- into consideration, the boy was made to be something akin to a slave to the Winchesters, made to cook and clean for them at all hours of the day. Thinking he did something wrong could trigger a panic attack. On the other hand, he could just eat the food and thank the boy. This would ensure the boy didn’t panic, and could even put him to ease. But this would also ensure that no progress was made with the boy. It might make Cain think this is what was expected of him here as well. 

So Bobby did the first thing that came to mind. “Where’s your plate?” he inquired, not yet touching his food. 

The boy looked startled, then sheepish. “I’m sorry, sir. I am accustomed to eating my meal later, around noon. Would you prefer I eat in the morning?”

Bobby set his fork down. He seemed to have lost his appetite. 

\---SPN---

It had been an odd morning. When the man -- Bobby -- had set his fork down, Cain immediately assumed he was to be punished. Perhaps he had spoken too much, or said something wrong. Maybe he didn’t like the food, or wanted something different. Maybe it was because he hadn’t made coffee for the man. 

But no starting blow came, no backhand sending him to the floor, where several kicks to his ribs were sure to follow. 

Instead, the man’s hand came down gently on his back, guiding him to sit in his previously occupied chair in front of the food. After assuring the boy was seated, the man crouched beside him. 

Bobby felt as if he had been physically struck by the boy’s words. The boy spoke with no emotion save a hint of fear. It was robotic, in a way, seeming to be something a machine was programmed to say. Perhaps this too was a coping mechanism; the boy reverted to acting like a complete slave to the Winchesters to avoid “punishment”. It was something he could not allow to continue.

Bobby saw the boy’s panic as he stood, heard his breathing pick up, but he pushed on, feeling the boy flinch as he touched his back. His tongue was all tied, his throat seeming to be clogged, but somehow he managed to strangle out a few sentences. 

“Cain, I know this is going to be hard for you, especially for the first bit, but I want you to understand that you aren’t a servant here. You are a guest. That means that you don’t have to cook, you don't have to clean, and you definitely don’t need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt ya’. I’m as honest a man as you will find in the hunting world -- ‘cept that one pastor fella -- and you have my word that you will not be harmed under my roof. Okay? Now, eat. You must be starved.”

Three minutes later, the boy had yet to say a thing, yet to break eye contact with Bobby. It was getting awkward, staring into his eyes, but Bobby persisted. He needed Cain to see the genuinity in his eyes, that there was no trick involved. Eventually, the boy looked away, at the plate of cooling food, and hesitatingly -- after dropping it twice -- placed a small piece of egg in his mouth. The boy’s eyes went straight to his after the bite, and Bobby smiled, urging him to go on with a nod of his head. By some miracle, the boy did. He took small bites, finishing off about half an egg and a piece of bacon before looking up again, this time even more unsure looking. It was as if he was testing Bobby, purposefully disobeying his previous orders to see what would set Bobby off. 

To say Cain was confused would be an understatement. He was downright lost, lost in a completely new world with no one to explain it to him. He was allowed to eat _again_ , after he hadn't even done anything the previous night to deserve it. He was torn. He wanted to stuff as much of the food in him as he could. After all, who knows when his next meal could be. However, if he ate too much, he could end up just losing it all to the toilet in minutes. Also, maybe eating too much of the food would set the man off. He didn’t want to take his chances. He had already been fed once the previous night, so he wasn’t even that hungry anyways. He would stow the leftovers away in a tiny container in the fridge. Maybe then he would be allowed to eat them another time. He packed it up as soon as the man left the kitchen. 

When the hunter came back into the kitchen to see the table cleared, dishes cleaned and currently being dried by Cain, he frowned. Cain trembled lightly. Was he not supposed to do the dishes until there were more of them? Some of the Winchester’s hunter friends thought so, and would punish him for his waste. “That soap could have cleaned a dozen plates,” they would say. It was all his fault; he had probably angered Bobby, and he deserved whatever punishment would come for wasting the good hunter’s money. 

He still didn’t receive any punishment. 

Instead, the seasoned hunter simply called his name, and asked him to follow him into the living room, where a fire warmed the room. Cain almost wanted to thank the hunter for allowing him to sit on the couch near the fireplace. He was still in the same, thin clothing as the night before, and the chill of the day could still be felt in the old house. 

“Okay, kid. I think we need to have a talk,” the hunter said. “I’m starting to get a picture of what life was like with the Winchesters, and I don’t like what I’ve managed to piece together.” He paused, taking a breath and regaining eye contact with Cain. 

“Like I said, I know it’s gonna take a while, and the road will be hard, but I need you to start to understand somethings. You are not expected to do anything here. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. You don’t need to keep house here. You’re a kid, and a guest. You just need to rest and relax whilst we figure out some plans together.”

Cain spoke up. “But I‘m not a kid, sir. I look like one, but I’m not. I’m a monster, a freak. I’m not human.”

“Have you ever hurt anybody?” the hunter blurted out. A nod and misty eyes looking away was his answer. “How?”

“I killed them.”

“How did you kill them, Cain?”

At the mention of his name, the boy began to tremble once again. “Because I’m evil. They died because of me.” Tears made their way silently down his cheeks. “I don’t know how, sir. I swear.” Sobs made their way out of his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

Bobby had both heard and seen enough as the boy seemed to be experiencing a panic attack, slowly curling into himself, covering his head with his forearms to block any hits to that area. “Hey, that’s alright, kiddo. No need to cry. I’m not gonna hurt’cha.” He lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling the kids bones beneath his fragile skin. Of course, he chose to ignore this, as well as the violent flinch and surprised yelp the boy gave at the contact. “Come on. You’ve had a rough morning. Why don’t we get you settled into a bed and you can relax for a bit. Take a nap, read a book -- I can even grab one of the laptops from the library and you can watch a movie or play some games. Sound good?”

Cain didn’t know what to say. Just the thought of laying in a bed was too good to be true. Fantasizing about such things only hurt, so he never did. However, before he knew it, he was laying in the guest bed -- Bobby had carried him up the stairs -- and was being tucked under a warm blanket. 

“Shh. It’s alright,” the gruff voice spoke. “Just get some sleep. It will all be better soon.”

His mother used to say that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I've been rereading my old chapters to catch up with myself. There are mistakes, and I am so sorry for that. I have this little problem where I get really excited when I think something's ready and I don't proof read it. Also, no beta for me either. All mistakes, past and present, are mine...
> 
> I am positive I had an idea of where I wanted this to go, but I did not write it down, so now I'm going off vague memory. I am so sorry for that. At this point, I have no clue what I'm doing or how to go from Point A to Point B. 
> 
> Hoping to update soon, but no garuntees. It might have to be next weekend.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	6. Good Night, Sleep Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Good night, sleep tight,  
>  Wake up bright  
> In the morning light  
> To do what's right  
> With all your might._
> 
> _Good night, sleep tight,  
>  Don’t let the bedbugs bite.  
> And if they do  
> Then take your shoe  
> A nd knock ‘em ‘til  
> They’re black and blue!_
> 
> —Good Night, Sleep Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I forget again: I have no beta. All mistakes belong to me and me only.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in the show. This is finfiction and purely for fun, therefore I am making no profit from this.
> 
> Now then, on with the show!

Cain rarely slept in a bed. 

Motel rooms, even the most shifty ones, cost more per bed. John didn’t see any reason to waste money on a resource. That was all Cain was: A tool, something less than human that they owned and could use at their whim. Also, beds were a luxury, something only humans received. Cain wasn’t human, wasn't worthy of a bed. He had no place sleeping in a bed. Beds were only for good boys -- another thing Cain was not. 

_”Take a shower, Dean,”_ John would say as he claimed the bed closest to the door, throwing his duffel on it. _“I’ll get the freak set up for the night.”_ As soon as Dean was out of sight, John would pull out a pair of handcuffs -- various sigils carved into them -- and pick a spot to keep Cain for the night. If he had been a really, _really_ good boy lately, he could sleep on a cushion. John called it his dog bed, the ratty old pillow stolen from some motel room in the past, but Cain cherished those nights. Of course, it was a rare occasion, being able to use the cushion, and only when Dean insisted he be rewarded. 

Then there were the best moments, the ones where John was gone -- either on a hunt he didn’t want Dean involved in, gone somewhere else for the night, or just staying late at a bar. On those nights, Dean would stay awake until John came back. Sometimes he would even talk to Cain, tell him about school stuff, things he often missed unless his presence was detected and John found it necessary, if only to keep a low profile. If he looked confused enough, Dean would grab a piece of paper and a pen and explain the complicated mathematical formulae to him. Cain knew Dean was under-rated, under-encouraged. He was a genius in disguise. 

Then John would come home, and Dean would quickly scrunch up the paper and toss in the bin. He never missed. Even if he did, John would never notice. He was always too drunk on those nights. 

Dean would then make sure John brushed his teeth, took a drink of water, and then tucked him into bed. If John was angry, Dean would simply skip all but the last step. He always pulled off his father’s boots and jacket. Tucked the blanket around him, and made sure he was comfortable. Then, after ensuring that the eldest hunter was out for the count, Dean would come back over to Cain’s spot. He would gently unlock the handcuffs before walking over to his bed and crawling in, beckoning Cain to follow without a word. He never touched him, never made him uncomfortable.

Dean would let simply him sleep in his bed for the night, making sure everything was back to normal before John awoke. 

They only talked about it once. 

These were the best moments of Cain’s existence, the nights where Dean would take him inside when Cain was chained outside -- only when they rented a house, not a motel room. The nights where it was _so cold_ , and John was still here, and Dean would simply let Cain sleep in his bed, staying up the whole night himself to make sure the sober John didn’t arouse. 

These were the nights that would rid Cain of any hate he built up in his evil mind. These were the nights that he truly realized that he was the evil thing here, not them. 

Because Dean wasn’t evil. 

Cain was.

\---SPN---

Cain was lost when he awoke. He didn’t have to cook dinner. In fact, he was reprimanded for it that very morning. It felt weird being allowed to sleep when he was tired and overwhelmed, as it was now well past noon. He was even told not to tidy up the piles upon piles of things stacked in the dusty house early this morning. Maybe it was because he wouldn’t know where anything went, and would only annoy people by asking them. Yeah, that was it. 

But that still didn’t explain the luxuries he was given.

Cain didn’t even dare think how much this was going to cost him in the long run. In fact, no matter how warm the house was, he shivered at the thought. 

He had been so confused when the new man, Bobby, had not punished him for speaking. It was something John would never tolerate. He was not human, and therefore, like the animal he was, should not be able to speak their languages. Of course, he also didn’t like the other language Cain could speak, said he would cut out his tongue if he ever did so again. 

Cain had pondered over John’s reaction for a while that day, and realized a pattern. Whenever Cain spoke about anything from _”before”_ , he would be punished extra hard. The foreign language fell in that department perfectly, as he could remember his mother speaking it a few times. 

And yet, Bobby didn’t seem to care that he had spoken. Maybe there was something wrong with Bobby. Dean spoke about people like that sometimes, people that were _”not right in the head”_ , as he had put it. Maybe Bobby was like those people, and just didn’t quite understand what Cain was. 

That just left Cain to figure out a whole new set of rules until the Winchesters returned to pick him up for a hunt again. Maybe he would need to have a vision; maybe he would be needed as bait. He did attract the unnatural, after all. It didn’t matter. 

The point was, no matter what Bobby may insinuate, they would be back.

And punishment was sure to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon; I promise! Next chapter is almost done, and much longer than this... This is more of a filler I couldn't justify putting with the next chapter.


	7. Where Did You Go? (Hide and Seek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10…coming! ready or not!!_
> 
> _Count 1 to 10 without a peek  
>  You go hide! And then I seek!  
> Where d’you go? Where d’you hide?  
> You’re not in the places I tried!  
> I look over here, I look over there  
> I look up and down and everywhere!  
> You’re good at this, where did you go?  
> Are you here? yes, yes, yes….no!_
> 
> —Where Did You Go? (Hide and Seek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's official; I'm running out of nursey rhymes... I my just double back and change the chapter titles to something else if this keeps going. 
> 
> Also, if you had wanted to read some of these rhymes, I get them at Nursery.zelo.com..
> 
> Again, I own nothing relating to Supernatural and am making zero profit from this. 
> 
> No beta. I make mistakes. Feel free to point them out to me, and I'll get right on them. I rarely proof-read this stuff, as I don't have time.
> 
> Something about this chapter disappoints me... I can't figure out why or what is causing it, but I just don''t like this one.

Bobby was in way over his head, and he knew it. The problem was, everytime he thought that it would just be better to ditch the kid at some hospital or police station, he would see wide, wet hazel eyes looking up at him like he was made of gold just because he let him stay in his own room, have breakfast, sit on the couch.

It was exhausting, but oh so rewarding. 

It killed him, but at this point, he was addicted. He needed to give this boy a better life.

It came at no surprise to him when this was a bit more difficult than just _’poof you’re better’_. He was going to have to take this step by step. The first step being getting the kid comfortable enough to talk to him, maybe even tell him his real name. God knew it couldn’t actually be Cain. No, that was most likely John’s doing. 

Maybe the kid didn’t even know his own name. 

The poor boy was so lost, it would seem. Heaven knows how long he had lived with John; apparently long enough for even the most simple things to see like royal luxuries. Maybe all he knew was life with the Winchesters. 

The guest room wasn’t lavish by any meaning of the word. Hell, the only reason it too wasn’t piled in junk like the rest of the house was because Bobby made an effort to keep it clean for whenever Dean needed a place to crash. Sure, he let other hunters stay there over the years, but he still considered it _‘Dean’s room’_. 

Maybe he always would. 

That was another problem. Was he just using Cain as a replacement for Dean? Was he just doing this for a personal benefit? Hell, the last thing the poor boy needed was another person messing with his emotions, his head. Clearly there had been enough tampering in there as it is. 

That was evident on the very first full day, after Cain had spent his first night there and Bobby had settled him down for a nap of sorts. 

Bobby had gone into the guest room where he had settled an overwhelmed, panicked, and confused Cain. Of course, he had no clue if the kid would be comfortable enough to sleep in his home yet, but opted not to check on him, to see if he just needed some time to himself. 

To say he was surprised when, at three in the afternoon, the kid had yet to make an appearance would be fairly accurate. Maybe he was just really tired. The kid had looked ready to drop that morning, so maybe he just really needed some sleep. 

Bobby could have slapped himself then. _Of course the skinny, terrified boy from last night needed sleep._ Hell, he didn’t look like he had gotten a wink in over a week. Judging by the fact that John had left him in a car all night, he didn’t sleep the night before either.

Either way, the boy needed to eat too. Bobby figured small, consistent meals were key to making sure he didn’t get sick, so he cut up an apple, placing it on a plate next to a warm, buttered piece of toast with jam. Now he would simply see if it was going to be another struggle to get the kid to eat.

He walked up to the guest bedroom, making sure to create some noise with each step so the kid wouldn’t be surprised when he came into the room. He knocked on the door three times. 

No response was given.

“Cain, it’s me. I’m gonna come in, alright, boy?” Bobby said softly, before opening the door and slowly entering the room. 

He hardly recognized the room. All the posters of both cars and women that had been both placed and torn off by Dean over the years and left scattered on the floor were gone, pressed in a neat pile on the desk in one corner of the room. The bed was stripped, blanket folded neatly beside it, sheets and pillowcases removed and nowhere in sight. The floor had been cleaned, dust removed from the end table and shelves, which were also tidied up. 

Bobby scratched his head, not sure of what to make of the scene in front of him. Cain was nowhere in sight and the room was cleaned. Bobby was now more than positive that he had yet to be clear about the whole “servant” talk he had with the boy.

But for now, he had more pressing issues. Like where on Earth that boy had got to now.

\---SPN---

He found him thirty minutes later, after nearly tearing apart the newly cleaned room. Of course, none of that mattered to him at that moment. All that mattered was that a certain little boy was nowhere to be found. When he eventually found him, it was not where he had even considered. 

He found him in the hallway closet, knees pressed against his chest, laying on his side under the bottom shelf in the closet. At least, that’s the position Bobby assumed he was in, as the boy shot up the moment the door was opened, bumping his head before crawling out, lowering his eyes instantly, the perfect picture of submission that he was. 

“Hey boy,” he spoke softly, “What’cha doin’ in the closet here?”

The boy began to tremble in the slightest, wringing his hands in front of him in a nervous gesture. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Cain had thought he had done things right for once; he had been positive. When Bobby had brought him to the guest room, he couldn’t help himself, and he fell asleep. In a bed. That was bad. 

He had woken up in a panic. He was going to be punished, and it was going to be _bad_. First, he knew he had to do what he could to lessen the brutal punishment looming in the distance. 

That meant cleaning up his mess. 

He was filthy, freakish, and tainted. Everything he touched died, was contaminated. He needed to clean the bed, the whole room, to rid it of his taint. He needed to make sure someone else could stay there in the future. 

After doing so, he waited for the hunter to fetch him for either more chores, or his punishment. It was unpredictable which one would come first. Some hunters prefered to get his punishments done immediately, so he would know exactly why he was being punished. Others prefered to save all his punishments for the end of the day, where they would all be dealt to him at the same time, to make sure they didn’t slow him down all day. John himself altered between the two methods sometimes, as different hunters always gave their opinions to him and made him rethink it again. 

When the seasoned hunter he was currently with never fetched him, he assumed he was dismissed for the moment. After all, he would hate for him to see Cain standing around like the useless tool he was. 

However, he didn’t want to mess up the surprisingly neat bedroom closet. He knew it would probably make the man even more upset if he were to move some of the contents of the closet to make room to crawl under one of the shelves. This brought him to find the tiny linen closet in the hall. He managed to fit himself under the bottom shelf there without moving anything. He was small; John always liked that. 

He was surprised when no one went to fetch him for a few hours. Usually, unless John told him when to rise, the older hunter would just shout for him in the morning whenever he wanted him. According to his internal clock, it was well past noon by the time he heard footsteps near his crude mockery of a room. 

But apparently he wasn’t supposed to wait. The hunter was surprised that he was here, and John had probably told him that this was where he was expected to sleep unless someone were to tell him differently. Cain took this to mean he had other chores that he had yet to complete, and panicked, apologizing immediately. Sometimes the punishment for speaking was more mundane than that for disobedience, even unintentional disobedience. 

Disobedience brought the worst punishments. It wasn’t that Cain meant to be disobedient; no matter what John says. No, he was just confused. He knew his place, knew what was expected of him, but he struggled lately. He was almost _angry_ at his position in life. It scared him. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He knew that John was more merciful to him than he deserved, but he still rebelled often, trying to steal food, or cheat on his chores. Sometimes, he even fantasizes about running away again. 

A selfish bastard, that’s what he was. He was a spoiled monster, and now he wanted more. He wanted to go to school, make friends, and try to be _normal_. It was a pipe dream, he realized, but it was his only hope sometimes. 

\---SPN--

“It’s alright, kid. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just wondering why you’re in the closet when there’s a perfectly fine bed a door away.”

“Beds are for people,” the kid said matter-of-factly.

Bobby sighed. It appeared they needed to have this conversation again. “You are a person, Cain.”

The boy looked taken aback at that statement, and shook his head rapidly. “No, sir,” he corrected, “I’m not.”

Bobby had no clue what to do. Hell, the boy hadn’t given any signs to him being anything less than human, hadn’t gotten caught in any of the Devil’s Traps around the house, or any of the other wards, for that matter. Who was to say John hadn’t just gone off the deep end? The boy seemed _human_. Of course, so did vampires, werewolves, demons, and a whole lot of other things…

But this just wasn’t right.

“Cain, in this house, you are allowed to eat whatever you want, whenever you want, you are allowed to sit on the furniture without asking first, and you are definitely allowed to sleep in a Goddamn bed when you’re tired. You hear me? I don’t care what the others have told you. You are a guest here, not a prisoner or slave.”

The boy had no reaction other than to curl into himself more at Bobby’s frustrated tone, causing Bobby to sign once again.

“Come on, Cain. Let’s get you some lunch.” 

The boy followed obediently down the stairs and into the kitchen.

It seemed Bobby was going to need some help with this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it might be a few days before I have another update, as times a little short at the moment and I have literally nothing for the next chapter yet...
> 
> By the way, is there something specific you guys are hoping to see or not to see? You guys are so kind with your comments, I feel like I owe you something! :D
> 
> Thanks for reading thus far!


	8. Johny Johny (Yes Papa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Johny, Johny!  
>  Yes, Papa  
> Eating sugar?  
> No, Papa  
> Telling lies?  
> No, Papa  
> Open your mouth!  
> Ha! Ha! Ha!  
> _  
> — Johny, Johny (Yes, Papa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there,  
> Long time no update, am I right? I know; I hate me too.  
> So I gave up. I have no excuses. I had given up. But now I'm back. Want to know why? I logged on to put this up for adoption and then I read the comments you all left me. I was so touched by how honestly lovely you people are, and I wanted to keep trying.  
> So here I am. It's short, but I wanted to give you something to show I'm back.

It had been a month since Bobby had last seen the Winchesters. And it had gone in a flash. 

Progress had been made, Bobby thought. Maybe it was all wishful thinking in the end. Maybe Bobby just wanted Cain the improve so much that he saw a milestone in every step back the kid took. 

It went so fast. All of it. In a way, maybe they made no progress at all. Maybe no time even passed at all. Who would have noticed?

After the first few days, they settled into a routine of sorts. Cain would wake up early, do whatever cleaning he felt was necessary -- despite Bobby’s constant reassurances that he didn’t have to -- and then Bobby would come out to a fresh pot of coffee waiting for him on the table with breakfast. Mostly, it was some form of egg dish. Bobby chalked that up to being one of the Winchester’s preferences. 

After that, Bobby would make sure that Cain ate something, even if it was a small as half an apple, before giving Cain his project of the day. 

A while back, he had noticed how antsy Cain could get during the afternoons, and had asked him about it. 

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I’m adjusted to being assigned a research project during the day. If that does not happen, I am assigned another task, such as cleaning the weapons or car upholstery.”

It turns out, the kid was a wiz with research. He had memorized tons of supernatural lore and could recite it word for word with no prompt. It was incredible. Bobby eventually decided, for both of their benefit, he would make good use of that gift. 

The kid loved to read; it was hard to miss. When Bobby allowed him to enter his library, the kids eyes went wide as saucers. He looked so amazed, so excited, that Bobby couldn’t help but grin. He was hesitant before this, but not now. In fact, even though he did have quite a lot of information in that library, he knew Cain would not use it against him or any other human being. Hell, the boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Bobby trusted the kid to enter his library. However, he only wished he had more to offer the poor child. Then he had an idea. If the kid liked to read so much, why limit him to only research books? He began to bring the kid different literature from the local bookstore. He started with a series he hadn’t ever read himself, to be honest: “Hardy Boys.” And the kid took to it like a duck to water. In fact, Bobby was even able to get the kid to stay late in bed so that he could relax and read. 

He began to ask him about the book, what he thought, what he liked, and which characters he enjoyed most. And sometimes Cain would shrug and hide away, but sometimes he would answer. Sometimes Bobby swore he saw something like a light in the boys usually empty eyes. 

And it became a bit easier. It was far from perfect and Cain was far from okay, but at least they seemed to be understanding each other a bit more. 

It no longer seemed impossible.

\---SPN---

Dean didn’t like to question his dad. The man was the only reason he was alive. And sure, he wasn’t perfect, but he did his best to do right by the world. At least, Dean liked to think so. The problem was, he didn’t like everything his father did. And the older he got, the more it seemed to bother him. Dean liked kids, spent as much time around them as he could in fact. It was involuntary at first. If there was a kid in danger or scared by a near-death-experience, John always shoved them to Dean to deal with. And Dean learned that it was the best job he could possibly have been given. He loved playing with kids, making them laugh, bandaging their wounds, and protecting them from the evil he knew was out there.

And then there was Cain. 

Cain who was so small, so quiet. Cain who was not human. 

Cain that made Dean question. 

He questioned because he didn’t want Cain to hurt, because he wanted him to be free. So Dean did the only thing he could and rode the line, mediated. He had to be obedient to his father, but he also had to take care of Cain. So he made sure the boy was fed whenever he could. He would bandage his broken bones and stitch his cuts. He would dry his tears and warm his chills. Dean did all he could without raising suspicion. And he knew it wasn’t nearly enough. He hated himself for it.

And here he was: son, hunter, soldier, and guardian. 

Here he was: a fourfold failure.

He had to make a choice. He had to succeed at one thing at the very least. He had to pick one person to be. He looked at his drunken father on the bed beside him. Saw the determination in his eyes, the madness. And he made a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Is it worth continuing or not really?


	9. Old Mother Hubbard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Old Mother Hubbard_  
>  Went to the cupboard  
> To give her poor dog a bone.  
> But when she got there  
> The cupboard was bare  
> And so the poor dog had none.
> 
>  
> 
> _She went to the Baker's_  
>  To buy him some bread.  
> When she came back  
> The poor Dog was dead.
> 
>  
> 
> —Excerpt from "Old Mother Hubbard"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've made a few minor adjustments to the story, by the way. The only thing you really need to know is that I realized that I've kind of been picturing Cain to be around thirteen, so I've made the adjustment to his assumed age when Bobby finds him. As well, I've put the nursery rhymes in the chapter summaries if you would like to check them out.
> 
> Again, I own nothing at all. That is why this is fanfiction. As well, all mistakes are mine because I am often too lazy to thoroughly check my work...

Bobby needed help. A list of names went through his head -- Ellen, Rufus, Caleb, Pastor Jim. Who could he really trust? Who had something to offer that could help both Bobby and Cain during this time? He needed someone kind, someone good with kids. Ellen fit there. But he also needed someone who could devote time and effort into helping Cain learn to trust, learn to be free. Ellen ran a bar on her own with minimal help; there was no way she could bare both commitments. Rufus and Caleb were out. Sure, they were both good people that Bobby trusted more than anyone, but both were also emotionally closed off, gruff men that just screamed _hunter_ in every way possible. Poor Cain would probably run for the hills. 

That left Pastor Jim. Yet Bobby was reluctant to call the man. Jim had a church to run and plenty of people to take care of, not to mention the fact that he was also a hunter. If he were to ask Jim for help, Cain would most likely have to stay at Jim’s house in order for the kindly priest to be available to him. That would cut Bobby out of the picture almost completely. Bobby insisted the real reason he hesitated was because he thought that forcing the boy to move again just when he seemed to start to feel safe would be cruel. It wasn’t because Bobby wasn’t able to give the kid up. That would be selfish, he thought. No, he was doing this for Cain’s benefit. That didn’t mean that asking the priest for advice was a bad idea, though. 

Three rings sounded through the old phone before a voice answered. “Hello, this is Jim Murphy.”

“Jim, I need some help.”

It took Bobby some time to explain his new situation to his old friend. How he came to find Cain in the Impala, banish the Winchesters from his house, and somehow become something of a guardian for the poor, broken boy. 

“He’s scared of his own shadow. I’m not sure what to do, Jim. I mean, how can someone get over that? How can he manage to get better?”

He heard his friend sigh. “He needs to feel safe first and foremost. Start with that. He needs to know that things are different now, that he isn’t expected to live like that ever again.”

Bobby heard the muffled sounds of the laundry machine beginning a cycle in the basement. Easier said than done, he mused. “Jim, you don’t get it. The kid’s like a well-oiled machine still. I mean, it’s been a month now and the boy still finds it necessary to keep house at all times.”

Jim chuckled. “Maybe it’s because he knows it won’t get done otherwise.”

“Shut up, ya’ idjit. I take care of myself just fine.” And he _did_. A new set of clean clothes every day was overrated, and he always managed to find whatever he was looking for eventually. He had a system to his cluttered house and he liked to keep it that way.

“Bobby, the truth is that there is no textbook answer to how to help trauma. You just have to do what you can as the situation calls for. From what what you’ve told me, it seems like the poor child has been through Hell. Don’t expect things to change quickly, and by that I mean that it will take months at the very least for you to see positive progress. And even then there will be setbacks, triggers, and relapses. The only thing you really can do is be there for him, support him through every trial and triumph.”

Jim was a great man, but he had the ability to irritate the living hell out of Bobby. It was the way he spoke. He was so soft and convincing when he explained things. He made it all seem so simple. It was enough to make anyone feel like it was going to be okay; it would give people hope. But in reality, it was never as simple as it sounded. No, it was always much, much more difficult -- usually difficult enough to drive a man mad. This situation was no different, of course.

“Jim...” Bobby sighed and wiped a hand down his face, collecting his frustration for later on. “Thanks for the advice. I appreciate it. I better go… You know, check up on things and all.” He hoped the pastor wouldn’t be able to detect the exasperation in hie voice. Sure, the advice Jim had given sounded great in some self-help book or some crap like that, but in the end it didn’t do more than confirm Bobby’s own general instincts. _Be there_.

“You know you can call me anytime, right? I’m always here and am willing to help in any way I can.”

“Of course, Jim. I’ll call.” _When I’m desperate_ Bobby rolled his eyes.

Goodbyes were exchanged and phones were set down. Bobby let out a large breath. _’Nothing you can really do for him.’_ Just great. _’Be there.’_ He would do his best. 

\---SPN---

Cain had never really had nice things. Therefore, he never really missed anything all that much. Sure, there were times when Dean was sent away and Cain would find himself missing Dean. But other than that, he didn’t miss things often.

Except his mother. He missed his mother a lot. 

The thing is, he never really was allowed to miss his mother, never allowed to even think about her, to remember her. 

Because that only ever made things worse. 

Nothing hurt more than to think about her. Because thinking about his mother made him miss her. And missing her caused him to be distracted. He wasn’t allowed to be distracted. Distractions caused problems. They made him mess up, made him less careful. Distractions made him hurt. 

Memories hurt more when they were good. 

Dean was like his mother. They both had green eyes, green like grass and leaves If nothing else, that was a comfort to him. 

Cain wished his mother would come back. Why did she leave him? Why did she have to go away? He sighed and looked at the floor he was currently mopping only to freeze. When nothing happened, he looked around him for the hunter in charge of him only to find no sight of him. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe Cain wouldn’t be punished for the ungrateful noise he had made. But wasn’t that bad? Wouldn’t keeping it a secret be bad of him? Of course it would be! How could he even consider not telling the hunter he lived with that he had disobeyed and needed to be punished. But he didn’t want to tell him. He hadn’t been punished in so long and he felt so good and he didn’t want to have to go without food or sleep on the porch. The guilt ate at him like an acid did a wooden desk. What could he do?

What would Dean tell him to do?

Usually, when Cain was lost like this, Dean could tell. Dean could always read him, always knew.. Dean would ask him gently what was going on and Cain would have no choice but to tell him everything. And then Dean would tell him what to do. And then Cain wouldn’t have to feel guilty if Dean told him that there would be no telling John. That was an order and he couldn’t disobey it. He would then be doing good to not tell John. The balance would remain. 

But now he had no Dean. 

And he hadn’t his mother. 

Why had they left him? Did he do something wrong? Had John and Dean sold him to this new hunter because he wasn’t good enough? Was Bobby just feeding him to make him look better for a resale, to make a profit? He hadn’t a clue. All he knew was that people who were nice to him didn’t seem to stay. They always left. Just like his mother. She never even said goodbye. One moment she was there and the next she was gone. 

How he wished she would visit again sometime.

The Winchesters never knew about his mother’s visits. Or at least, they didn’t seem to. They never said anything when she was there. They never even glanced in her direction when she was around. She would caress Cain’s head when he cried at nights, would show up when he needed her most. 

She would call him ‘Sam.’

_Not ‘Freak.’ Not ‘Bain.’ Not ‘Cain.’ Not ‘Monster.’ Not ‘Whore.’_

“Sam,” she would say. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He tilted his head. “For what?” Why would she have any reason to be sorry? 

A sad smile crossed her face. Tears welled in her green eyes. Forest green. Like summer. Like life. “For everything.”

And Cain would never understand what she meant, but he feared asking more would make her leave him. 

Sometimes she sang to him. She had a wonderful voice, it was soft and gentle. It would make him feel good. He didn’t understand the songs sometimes, but he still liked them. She would sing to him while he worked sometimes. And sometimes, when no one was around, they would talk. She’d ask him questions. Ones that didn’t make him scared or uncomfortable. Ones that he didn’t have to figure out the right answer to. 

Sam was convinced she was an angel, and that’s why she couldn’t always be there. She must be much too busy to spend all her time with him. Maybe she thought she could cure him. Some people tried, he wanted to tell her. It never works. But he said nothing, afraid it would make her leave him. 

And when she did leave him, he would feel lost again. _Take me with you,_ he wanted to beg. But he didn’t. Because that would be selfish. He didn’t belong in heaven; he didn’t deserve his mother. It was a miracle she ever visited. He was where he belonged. This was right.

Besides, once Dean returned, he wouldn’t feel as lost again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just wanted to make it clear that I am not necessarily defending nor persecuting Dean's actions. Thoughts and emotions have been severely manipulated and abused in this story and I want to demonstrate the brokenness that this has caused.
> 
> Comments are literally fuel for me. They are what makes my fingers fly across my keyboard. So let me know your thoughts if you have a moment! :D


End file.
